61A/N: Please excuse me if I slip up on the lingo. I'm not exactly too knowledgable about what people used as slang thirty years ago. ;)
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ELLIOT
There are hushed whispers, and there are loud whispers. Both follow me from biology to my next class, and for the rest of the day.
But I don't care if they talk. They can talk forever for all I care. Dolas is a stupid asshole who deserves worse than what I gave him, which is much more crazy and dramatic in the talk buzzing around the school. Apparently, I'm going to beat him up after school. Take him out behind the Dumpster and beat him to a pulp. (This one is most popular; after all, I'm twice the little weasel's size.) I'm also going to flush his head in the toilet and shove him in his locker (another popular one; he'd fit quite easily in his locker) and leave him there.
I won't spoil their fun and tell them that all I "gave" him was a right good scare.
"If I ever hear that word come out of your mouth again, I swear to God, you will be a very, very sorry little rich boy."
The worst talk is of why I threatened him in the first place. I know for a fact that it's said with the same bloody word that Dolas used, but it comes back to me as "black person lover".
And so what? I don't understand why people care what skin color other people have. SKIN color, for God's sake! If you must have something to be discriminatory about, why couldn't it be hair color, or something that people could change? Black people are just that: people, and they are no different than white people when it comes to smarts, physical endurance, or, really, anything. There are brilliant black people, and there are brilliant white people. There are stupid black people, and stupid white people. But whether you're stupid or smart… has nothing at all to do with your skin color, of all things!
I moved here to Georgia from Montana this summer. I used to be home schooled. The racism here is so horrible! (The education sucks as well, but I won't get into all that.)
To be honest, I've been avoiding a lot of the people here — particularly the white people. And that turns to my recent personal favorite topic of discussion: Gianna Abraham.
The first time I walked into biology and saw her black-as-night curls, her perfectly full lips, her bronze skin tone, her eyes the darkest of chocolates with long, thick lashes— I was floored and I knew right then and there that she is the most beautiful creature to walk this campus. There is no possible way I can ever catch a goddess like her; she is the confident, beautiful queen, and I am the lowly, lovesick peasant that would kill to be her king.
I wished I had the nerve to talk to her.
But now I see her in the hallway. School's over; the final bell just rang, signaling the end of the school day. People are flooding into the hallways, anxious to go home. Gianna is opening her locker and I take a deep breath, then head over to her in lengthy strides. I'm about halfway across the hall when I see a white girl with blond hair in pigtails and dancing green eyes run up and start talking excitedly to Gianna. I sigh, and look down, letting people shove past me.
"Hey, Elliot!"
I look up and see Gianna's friend waving frantically at me, and I see Gianna pull her hand down, annoyed. I take another deep breath and continue to make my way over. The halls have thinned out by now.
"Hello, Gianna," I say, trying to be cool, leaning against the locker like the guys in the movies do. "What's happening?"
"Like, whoaaaa, I suddenly just realized, I need to be ANYWHERE but here," says the pigtailed girl suddenly. "Bye-bye, Elliot." She leans over to Gianna and murmurs, "And I'll talk to you later." Gianna elbows her, and she winks and runs away.
"Very colorful friend you have there," I say.
"Colorful?"
I look at her and suddenly turn bright red. "N-No, what I meant was—"
"You don't need to say anything," she says. The hallway is totally empty now. Her voice grows quiet. "Except… what did you really say to Will in class?"
"I told him never to say that… word ever again," I answer slowly, cautiously. My heart is thumping like a jackrabbit and I'm pretty sure she can hear it. "Or, at least, never let me hear it."
"What word?" But she already knows. Is this a test?
"I don't like to say it."
There's a long pause, and then she looks away. "Bye, Elliot," she mumbles before turning and running away.
I sigh and slide down the locker onto the floor. "I'm an idiot."
Her rushed footsteps echo through my head, until she leaves and I hear them no more.